


the more things change (the more things stay the same)

by bisexualfpjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Riverparents, a total and complete disregard for canon, i mean its there... if you squint, parentdale, thotty threesome, what SHOULD'VE happened in 304 and 312
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 10:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18871072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/pseuds/bisexualfpjones
Summary: Penelope has some bad luck. Or good luck. Depending on who you ask.





	the more things change (the more things stay the same)

**Author's Note:**

> imma be very real when i say there is no point to this fic beyond i just envisioned fred and fp screwing around on these two nights and needed some way to connect that thought and this is what happened. i havent written smut since my myspace RP days please turn back now.

**THEN.**

They snuck off when no one was looking, everyone else too preoccupied experiencing their highs to notice two of their own missing. 

They didn’t get a lot of moments like this, just the two of them, alone, so if they had to sneak off to the locker rooms and miss out on whatever fun their friends were having, sobeit. They’d make their own fun, anyway.

“You look ridiculous in that chainmail,” FP laughs as he pushes Fred through the door. 

“Says the man in the fur shawl,” Fred challenges, hands firmly planted on the other boy’s hips. 

“Hey! It completes the look!”

Fred’s back hits a row of lockers and suddenly he’s caged in with FP’s good arm at the left of his head, his casted hand resting softly on Fred’s hip. Their faces are close. He can feel FP’s breath ghost against his skin. It makes him shiver. “I think you took too much from Hiram’s stash.”

FP leans in closer, his lips just barely brushing over Fred as he speaks. “If my clothes offend you so much why don’t you just take them off me?”

Fred rolls his eyes, but the look on his face is that of sheer affection. “Can’t you ever go two seconds without trying to take your clothes off?”

“Uh, I don’t think you have room to talk after you volunteered your ass to go streaking with me, playboy,” FP laughs, licking his lips while Fred tracks the movement. He dips his head so he can have a go at the shorter boy’s neck only to be met with the dreaded chainmail. “Take this stupid thing off,” he mutters before tugging it off Fred’s head and tossing it somewhere behind him. There’s an echo of metal skidding across the floor and hitting another row of lockers.

“Hey, that’s my-” Fred’s protest is cut off when suddenly he feels FP’s lips on his skin, mouth warm and sucking on a spot just under his ear that turns his legs to jelly. He lets out a soft moan from the back of his throat when he feels FP’s tongue dart out to lick the sweat off his skin, feels FP’s satisfied smirk at knowing he can get that reaction out of Fred. It should be gross, but…

“You taste. So good.” Maybe it’s the drugs, but FP seems especially fixated on Fred’s neck right now, which is saying something. The boy’s got an oral fixation like you wouldn’t believe, always craving to put his mouth to use.

Fred’s certainly never one to complain. He’ll be FP’s own personal chew toy if he needs. As if on cue, FP’s teeth graze against his pulse, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark. Fred’s cock twitches, and he can hear the noises leaving his own mouth bouncing off the walls of the empty room.

His head is swimming, all his senses seemingly heightened, and he’s feeling everything times a thousand. FP must pick up on it, because soon he’s slotting his leg between Fred’s, pressing his thigh against the bulge in Fred’s pants, and Fred’s grinding down against him without a second thought. 

“Someone’s eager,” FP taunts, breath hot in Fred’s ear. 

“Well if you weren’t such a tease…”

“Aw, come on baby, you know I never leave you hanging.” FP punctuates his sentence with a bite to Fred’s earlobe, to which Fred responds by pinching the other boy’s side and watching as he jostles back in laughter. 

It’s one of FP’s secrets - one of the tamer ones - how ticklish he is. Fred likes knowing he’s the only one allowed to get away with actually doing it without getting socked. He likes watching the smile bloom across FP’s face because he can’t hold back the laughter, doesn’t want to when Fred’s the one causing it. It’s in little moments like this he finds himself falling a little more in love. 

FP’s stopped laughing, but a smile still adorns in his face as he stamps his body against Fred’s again, uses his good hand to cup Fred’s jaw as he kisses him soft and sweet. But it’s deceptive. Because all too soon, or maybe not soon enough, Fred feels the absence of another pair of lips on his, and when he opens his eyes he finds FP settling himself on his knees. 

It’s hardly the first time they’ve found themselves in this position, but the sight of Mr. Big Man On Campus kneeling before him never ceases to make his pulse race. 

He allows his head to fall back and hit the locker behind him, closes his eyes and reaches a hand out. Normally he’d run his fingers through FP’s curls, and he tries to, but he’s quickly reminded of the crown sitting atop his best friend’s head as his hand collides with it and knocks it askew. 

There’s a moment where he considers letting the crown fall, giving him the chance to feel those soft, dark locks between his fingers, but there’s something amusing about the idea of FP wearing something so regal while he’s sucking dick, and it has Fred snorting a laugh suddenly.

FP shys away from where he had been working on Fred’s pants, which have proven to be more difficult than usual. His coordination is off due to his inebriation, and it doesn’t help that Fred’s wearing the most ludicrous costume - complete with fucking flaps and shit. He feels like he needs a map just to find his boyfriend’s junk. He’s getting frustrated. “What’s so funny?” It comes out maybe a little grumpier than he intended.

If Fred notices the sourness in FP’s mood he doesn’t comment on it, but he does reach out to stroke FP’s cheek, and dammit if FP doesn’t melt into it. “Just thinking about how cute you look right now.”

FP raises an eyebrow. “I’m about to put your dick in my mouth. I don’t think ‘cute’ is the right word.”

“You’re cute, babe. Just deal with it.”

FP leans in and bites the exposed flesh just above the waistband of Fred’s pants, smirking to himself as he feels the teen squirm beneath him. “Watch it. I’m the one with the crown. _You_ should be the one on your knees.”

“We both know you like it better this way.” Fred’s fingers curl into the hair at the base of FP’s neck, causing him to sigh. It sounds dreamy to Fred’s ears, and with the way FP’s mouth shapes into an ‘o’ he can’t help but wish it was already on him.

As if reading Fred’s mind, he kick starts his brain into refocusing on the task at hand, remembering they have to hurry with this. It’s rare he and Fred ever have a moment to really enjoy each other. It’s the curse of being gay in a small, close-minded town; every interaction has to be rushed and in secret. But if this is all they get… 

He makes quick with undoing Fred’s pants, wasting no more time and pulling them halfway down his thighs along with his boxers. Fred’s hands settle on his shoulders and FP watches his hips buck forward in anticipation. He smiles to himself, reaching out to give Fred’s cock a lazy stroke and feels satisfied when his lover sighs and rests his head back against the lockers.

FP leans in then, licking a broad stripe from base to tip before wrapping his lips around the head. Fred’s fingers dig into his shoulders, spurring him on. 

It’s messier than usual, not that FP’s ever actually tidy with his blowjobs, but the high he’s on definitely has its effects. His movements are slower, trying to savor the moment. He works his throat loose enough to swallow all of Fred’s length and revels in the noises coming from the boy above him. 

It gets FP off, knowing he’s responsible for someone else’s pleasure. He hums, letting the vibrations tantalize the head of Fred’s cock where it sits at the back of FP’s throat, and if he could, FP would be smirking upon hearing the strained “ _Fuck!_ ” coming out of Fred’s mouth, paired with his fingers tightening on FP’s shoulders. 

FP pulls up slowly, hollowing his cheeks and working his tongue just how he knows Fred likes, and he gets a steady rhythm going on Fred’s cock. He looks up for a moment and takes in the sight before him: Fred’s jaw slack, the way his chest shrinks and expands from his panting, the way his eyes are glazed over with lust as he looks down into darker ones.

FP whimpers. He’s rock hard in his jeans, and he wants to do something about it, but he can’t. His good hand is firmly gripping into the meat of Fred’s ass, encouraging him to buck forward into FP’s mouth, and his other hand… is in a fucking cast. So there goes that plan. But he’ll deal with it later.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Fred’s voice, low and gruff, warning him he’s about to come.

Fred’s hands slide up to the other boy’s neck, keeping a loose hold on him as he continues thrusting his hips forward, chasing his release. FP hollows his cheeks, hums in approval until he feels Fred freeze and come down the back of his throat, his name sweet as sugar on Fred’s lips. 

FP sucks him off slowly through his orgasm, pulling off with a satisfied pop. His lips are puffy and red, slick with spit and cum, as he looks up to see Fred grinning down at him, all droopy eyed and lazy.

“God you’re beautiful.” Fred’s always extra sappy after he comes. He reaches out to run his thumb along FP’s bottom lip, and FP bites at the pad of it in response, devilish grin on his face to hide the way his chest tightens at the praise.

Their post coital bliss is cut short, however, when suddenly the door to the locker room comes flying open.

“Fred? FP? Are you guys- Oh my God!” 

Everything happens in a blur. Penelope Blossom comes barging in, and on instinct Fred pushes FP away. FP falls back onto his ass and whips his head around to see the redhead staring at them in shock and he knows he’s fucked. Fred pants are still down by his knees for Christ’s sake. 

“I didn’t- I didn’t see anything!” Penelope stutters, eyes wide and cheeks red enough to match her hair, before turning around promptly and running out. 

But that’s not good enough for FP. Not when so much as a whisper of this getting around town could very well be the end of him. 

He’s up on his feet in no time, wiping his mouth across his arm and chasing Penelope out of the locker room. Fred’s somewhere behind tripping over himself trying to pull up his pants and run after FP at the same time. FP can hear his name being shouted from down the hall behind him. 

FP’s quick, though. Years of running scared have taught him that. It’s what helped him land a spot on the football team. That and taking a hit. He grabs Penelope’s arm when he reaches her, maybe a little more forceful than necessary if the look on her face is anything to go by. “Listen, Blossom,” his voice his hard, all rough and jagged edges, but he needs to make his point clear. “You don’t breathe a word about this to anyone.”

“Get off of me, Forsythe!” She doesn’t yell, but there’s enough venom in her voice to make up for it, if the shoving at his chest wasn’t doing it. She feels FP’s hand loosen just a smidge, but it’s not until Fred finally catches up to them that FP lets go. 

All it seems to take is Fred’s hands on FP’s shoulders and suddenly FP isn’t acting so much like a caged animal, though he’s still visibly on edge. 

“Jesus, F, she’s not gonna say anything,” Fred tries to reason.

“Bullshit!” FP whips around to face the other teen. “No one in this town can keep a secret! How many more of mine does she need to have?”

“Screw you!” Penelope argues, real anger suddenly swelling up inside her. FP wasn’t the only one bleeding out in front of everyone during their little game of Secrets & Sins. She’s got just as much to lose as he does. “I haven’t said anything about your dad, or you being from the South Side, have I?” She meant for it to hurt, but she feels something like remorse when FP’s entire demeanor shifts, going from a rabid dog to a scared mut.

FP tries to hide it, squares his shoulders, steels his face into something Penelope can’t read, but his eyes are a dead giveaway.

“I’m sorry, FP. I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t.” FP’s voice comes out so low that Penelope can barely him, especially through his clenched teeth. But she gets the hint. 

She flinches when FP suddenly slams his fist into the row of lockers beside them and yells a thundering “ _FUCK!_ ” into the empty hallway. She wonders if the rest of the group will hear its echo. She wishes she never came looking for them. It was all Alice’s fault, running in scared, counting heads, wondering where the missing two were. Dramatic was what she was, but she wouldn’t calm down until everyone agreed to split up and search. 

There’s a voice in the back of Penelope’s mind telling her the boys are lucky it wasn’t someone like Hiram or Marty who found them in such a compromising position, but she knows enough not to say that out loud. Everyone’s worked up enough as it is. 

Fred’s got a hold of FP now, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Penelope that this is the second time she’s witnessed the calming effect Fred has on him. It’s strange. She’s seen it in action before, but now there’s an entirely new context. She almost envies them, this bond that they have. She’s never let anyone get close enough to try with her, especially not another girl, and maybe that’s for the best if the raw fear on FP’s face she witnessed was anything to go by. Any inclination towards the same sex she might have will have to remain unexplored. This run-in confirms what she already knows: it’s too risky.

But then there’s the way Fred cradles FP’s face so gently in his hands, whispering reassurances to him that everything’s going to be okay, and maybe Penelope aches for that, too. With a boy. With a girl. Someone to make her feel a little less alone in the world. 

A brief thought passes through her mind that wonders if FP knows how lucky he is, but all it takes is one look at the way FP’s eyes bore into Fred’s, the way his fingers are curled into the fabric at Fred’s hips like a lifeline, and Penelope knows he does. 

The moment feels too intimate for her eyes to see, but the fact that she is means some type of trust has been established between the three of them without her knowing. 

FP walks over to her then, and she readies herself for more yelling, but is surprised when she gets an apology instead. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” FP says, looking straight down into Penelope’s eyes. No bullshit. “I shouldn’t have gone all crazy on you. I just-” he lets out a breath, still nervous. “I panicked. If word of this got out it’d be bad for the both of us,” he takes a quick glance back at Fred, “but my dad-”

He’s cut off when Penelope’s hand abruptly lands on his elbow, just above his cast, and the move seems to shock the hell out of them both. But Penelope gives a reassuring squeeze nonetheless. “I get it.”

She doesn’t break eye contact, and there’s something like understanding written on her face when FP searches. He realizes it isn’t superficial. Penelope’s not just saying it to smooth over the situation. She says it because she _knows_ what it’s like to live under constant tyranny, too. In many ways, they’re in the same boat. And who the hell would’ve ever thought FP Jones and Penelope Blossom had anything in common.

FP nods his head, and Penelope lets go. Fred’s behind him suddenly, says “Thank you, Penelope,” as he snakes his arm around FP’s waist, and Penelope responds with a curt nod while brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face. 

“Well,” she starts, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Should we head back then? Wouldn’t want the rest of the group to think we were up to anything unsavory.”

Fred laughs, soft and sweet in FP’s ear and it’s enough to settle whatever lingering doubt that may have remained. At least for the time being. He gives FP’s hip a little squeeze and kisses his temple, knowing it’s the last chance they’ll have all night to be this intimate, and this time Penelope averts her eyes to let them have their moment. 

“You two head back without me,” Fred finally says, his arm falling from FP’s waist as he takes a couple steps back.

FP quirks a brow at him. “Why?”

“I left my hood back in the locker room. I gotta go-”

“No, Fred. For the love of God please forget about that thing.”

“I could have if you didn’t brand me.” He points the mark he’s sure FP left on his neck and sticks his tongue out.

FP returns the gesture before smiles break out on both their faces. “Fine. I’ll just have to be more careful next time.”

“Fat chance of that happening.” 

FP reaches out to playfully wack Fred in the stomach, but he jumps back just in time to evade it and starts jogging backwards down the hall. “I’ll catch you guys later!”

FP shakes his head in exasperation, but Penelope catches the smile that hasn’t left his lips. “For what it’s worth,” she starts as they head back to the rest of the group, voice soft so it doesn’t echo for prying ears, “I think you two make a cute couple.”

“Seriously?” Penelope might as well have sprouted a second head with the look FP was giving her.

She just shrugs her shoulders, trying to feign indifference. “I mean, in your own strange mismatched, sweaty teenage boy sort of way, sure.”

FP lets out a slow whistle in surprise. “Wow… did Penelope Blossom just pay me a compliment?”

“You know what? Forget I said anything.”

“No can do, Blossom,” FP says, voice full of smug. “You think I’m cute.”

“You are insufferable,” she quips, folding her arms across her chest in indignation. 

“Insufferable, but cute.” FP slings his arm around Penelope shoulders, and despite the sour look on her face she doesn’t move to shake him off.

“Oh my God.”

**NOW.**

It’s like they’ve stepped back in time. Everyone’s gathered around like they were some 25 years ago, on some mystic quest no one really quite understands. It’s ridiculous, is what it is. Being forced to play old teenage games he never should’ve started to begin with. If FP could go back in time he’d knock some sense into his younger self. About a lot of things. But Griffons & Gargoyles is definitely high up on the list. 

Everyone’s paired off now, searching the school for chalices so they can finish this stupid game and keep the body count down. At least for tonight. With the the way this town’s been on a fast track to hell who knows when the next funeral will be. 

Sometimes he thinks he should’ve just stayed in Toledo. Maybe it would’ve been easier. The murder rate can’t be anywhere as bad as in Riverdale, at least. And he would’ve avoided nearly killing Hiram Lodge for some cushy sheriff’s job he has no business having. Though, he doesn’t entirely regret that bit.

But, of course, there’s Fred. There’s always Fred. And even now as they make their way through the darkened halls that house their glory days FP knows he could settle in any paradise outside of this town and never feel complete without his person. And really, what’s the point of being safe if he’s miserable?

He follows Fred into the boys’ locker room and is immediately hit with a wave of deja vu. He wonders if this was a conscious choice on Fred’s part, if he too is remembering the night they had all those years ago, or if this is just coincidence. But he doesn’t ask. Fred’s mood has been off since that afternoon when their little club was called together. He doesn’t want to poke the bear. 

So they split up. There’s not that much space to cover, but Fred checks one end while FP gets the other, and it’s not long before they meet back in the middle empty handed. 

“There’s nothing here,” Fred finally speaks, and he does nothing to hide his annoyance.

“Yeah. All’s clear here, too.”

Fred lets out a low groan then, rubbing his hands over his face as he takes a seat on the bench in front of the lockers. “This is stupid. There’s probably not even anything here for us to find. Someone’s just fucking with us. Probably Hiram.”

“You really think Hiram planned all this from his hospital bed?”

“He could’ve had help. He has Hermione.”

“Talking bad about Hermione? Now I know something’s up.” It’s a joke, but it’s not exactly a lie either. Fred looks sideways at him, and FP holds his hands up in front of him to show he was just kidding. He makes his way over to the bench, straddles his legs on either side so he can sit facing Fred. He reaches out and places a comforting hand on Fred’s thigh, his thumb rubbing soft circles over denim. “Seriously, you’ve been on edge all day.”

“We’re all on edge, FP.” Fred’s still defensive, but he doesn’t make a move to remove FP’s hand. That’s a start. “We’ve had this giant dagger hanging over our heads for years and the thread’s finally wearing thin. How else am I supposed to act?”

“There’s something deeper going on with you.” He’s kept his eyes on Fred this whole time while Fred’s taken particular interest to some invisible spot on the floor. FP lowers his voice despite the fact that it’s just the two of them, jostles Fred’s thigh just a little. “Come on, Freddie. You can talk to me.”

Fred slowly lifts his head to face the other man, and for the first time FP notices the glossy appearance of Fred’s eyes, tears welling up but not yet falling. He scoots a little closer, reaches his other hand out to place on the back of Fred’s neck in a comforting gesture. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to push, but he holds Fred’s gaze with a soft intensity while his fingers card gently through Fred’s hair. 

It seems to relax Fred just the faintest bit. He takes in a shaky breath, his voice cracking when he finally says “My dad-” before abruptly cutting himself off. He turns away again, elbows falling to his knees as he hides his face in his hands and lets out a sob. 

FP’s confused, to say the least. He’s not entirely sure what Artie has to do with any of this, but that doesn’t stop his hand from sliding down to Fred’s back to rub soothing circles. Whatever it is Fred’s going through, FP wants to help. “Freddie, I don’t-”

“I never dealt with it,” Fred cuts him off, sitting up straighter and wiping his nose with his sleeve. “After all these years, I still carry that guilt from that night.” 

_Oh,_ FP thinks to himself. _Now it makes sense._

“And with everything starting up again, us being back here, and this _stupid fucking game_. If anything happens to Archie because of this...” He doesn’t finish the thought, just presses the heels of his hands to his eyes to stop himself from crying, tries to regain some semblance of composure. 

FP springs into action, gently pulls Fred’s hands away and turns his chin so they’re facing each other. “Hey, _nothing_ is going to happen to Archie.” His voice is stern, full of conviction. He hopes it does enough to mask how scared shitless he really is about this particular repetition of history. 

Fred shakes his head, like he didn’t even hear FP’s words. “I never should’ve kept him here. I was selfish and too blinded by my own nostalgia for what this town used to be. We should’ve packed our bags when Jason Blossom’s body washed up.”

FP tries to ignore the twist in his gut as he remembers the role he’s played in this town’s recent nightmares. A role he continues to play. His hands haven’t been clean in a long time, and they feel especially dirty now where they lay on the only pure thing FP’s ever had in his life. 

He goes to move them, suddenly feeling too unworthy of holding something so precious. Until Fred’s reaching out to take hold of his hand. A hand that has known murder and malice in ways that fill FP with such deep shame it haunts him in the dead of night. But Fred’s holding it like it’s the most delicate thing in the world - their fingers lacing together, Fred softly tracing the skin of FP’s palm. 

“You make this easier, you know? I like having you in my corner.”

They’re nice words, but FP doesn’t feel deserving of them. Never has, especially now. He concentrates hard on their connected hands, his fingers gently playing with Fred’s as he whispers “I don’t think I’m someone you want on your side.”

“You’re the only one I want on my side.” Fred sounds so sure, voice unwavering when he says it that FP can’t help but snap his head up to make sure he hadn’t misheard. 

Their faces are close, impossibly so, as FP searches Fred’s features for some sign that he isn’t telling the truth. But FP can’t find any. He’s just faced with the same raw honesty Fred’s given him since they were kids, when Fred had been the only dependable person in FP’s life.

Which is probably why he can’t stop himself from what he does next. Leaning forward, FP presses his lips to Fred’s, something so delicate and familiar as Fred’s lips part for him.

Words were never really FP’s strong suit, but he knows how to distract, how to make someone forget with touch. So he deepens the kiss when Fred allows it, going from sensual to ravenous as he mouths along Fred’s jaw, down to his neck until he reaches the sensitive spot just below Fred’s ear.

He brings a hand up to fist into Fred’s hair, tugging just enough to tilt Fred’s head so he has better access to his neck, more room to explore. Fred places both his palms on FP’s chest and for a moment FP thinks he’s about to be pushed away, that he made the wrong call and this moment’s about to come to a screeching halt.

But it doesn’t happen. 

Instead, Fred’s fingers are curling into the fabric of FP’s shirt, pulling him closer. He’s panting in FP’s ear, sounds so breathy and beautiful that FP’s already halfway to being achingly hard.

“We can’t do this here, F,” Fred breathes. FP’s hand has worked itself further up Fred’s thigh, but Fred makes no move to stop him.

“Why not?” FP bites at Fred’s earlobe, gives it a tug and relishes in the moan it elicits from him.

“Because…” Fred starts to argue, but all train of thought flies out the window as FP sucks on Fred’s neck like he’s _trying_ to leave marks. Smug bastard probably is. “Because… _fuck._ What if somebody walks in?” 

“We’ll give them a show.” 

There’s a tiny part of Fred’s conscience that knows now’s not the time to be doing this, but the rest of his head, and mainly his body, is too clouded by how good FP’s mouth feels on him to care. So he gives in, swinging his leg over to the other side of the bench so that he’s mirroring FP’s position. 

FP’s hands immediately find purchase on Fred’s hips, fingers dipping just under the hem of Fred’s shirt to grab at flesh. Fred grabs hold of FP’s face and brings him up so their lips meet again, and he begins to fall back until he’s lying flat on the bench below him, pulling FP down with him. 

FP moves himself onto Fred’s lap, straddling his hips and grinding down just enough for Fred’s jaw to fall open so he can let out a soft groan. FP smirks, leaning forward to catch the sound between his lips. He rolls his hips again, licks his tongue into Fred’s mouth, and Fred can’t stop himself from reaching out to grab his ass, fingers digging into denim as he urges FP’s movements.

“Do you think you could come like this?” FP murmurs against Fred’s lips, voice low and thick with arousal. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

FP chuckles. “Don’t worry, baby.” He takes Fred’s bottom lip between his own, sucking on it til it’s nice and plump as he works a hand down between them to the button of Fred’s jeans. “I would never do you like that.”

He pulls down the zipper before bringing his hand back up to lick a broad stripe across, an act Fred may have found vulgar if he wasn’t currently aching to get off.

FP scoots down more onto Fred’s thighs to give himself room and slips his hand into Fred’s underwear, taking hold of his length. The position is awkward, not all that comfortable, but they make do. Years of sneaking around as teenagers made them get creative. 

FP’s strokes start off slow, building a steady rhythm while his other hand moves to lift Fred’s shirt up so he can press open mouthed kisses to his chest. He swipes his thumb over the sensitive head of Fred’s cock, watching through hooded eyes as Fred arches beneath him. FP takes the opportunity to take a nipple into his mouth, giving it a flick of his tongue before sucking on it and basking in the way Fred whimpers at the contact.

His hand picks up speed, spurred on by all the broken off moans coming from the man under him. He feels 17 again, but without all the shame, and that makes everything so much better. He no longer cares about getting caught, about word getting back to his father. In fact, he kind of wishes the son of a bitch was still alive if only to rub his newfound happiness in the bastard’s face, show him that he didn’t win. That current train of thought does something to FP, gets him feeling a little warmer, and maybe that’s something that should’ve been addressed with a therapist years ago but…

Fred’s hands dip under the front of FP’s shirt, pausing on his stomach that’s gone too soft from all the stress eating he’s been doing since taking on the role of Riverdale sheriff. He’s definitely lost whatever was left of his former hot shot football body, but he’s in no rush to get it back. Fred’s always liked him a little thick anyway, and FP’s not willing to lose the daily reminders. Like how Fred loves to squeeze the extra meat that’s settled on FP’s hips, like he’s doing now, fingers digging so rough and deep he’s sure to leave bruises that’ll remind FP of this encounter for days. 

Fred’s breathing starts picking up. That’s how FP knows he’s close, even before the desperate moan of _“I’m gonna come”_ leaves his lips. 

FP kisses a trail back up to his mouth, whispers “Come on, baby,” and watches as Fred’s eyes squeeze shut, his jaw falling slack…

And then the locker room door is swinging open, and suddenly FP’s being thrown to the floor, hitting his back on the tile with a groan while a feminine voice is yelling “Oh my Eve!” and Fred’s yelling “Shit, I’m sorry!” though FP doesn’t know exactly who it is he’s apologizing to. 

Fred stands up and hastily does up his pants. “Penelope, this isn’t-”

_Of course it’s Penelope_ , FP thinks. _We’ve come full circle._

“Please, Fred,” Penelope interrupts, holding her gloved hand up. “I know what this is. I own a brothel, for heaven’s sake.”

“I’m okay, thanks for asking!” FP complains from the floor, back still very much in pain. Penelope makes no move to help, simply folding her arms over her chest and looking off to the opposite wall while Fred jumps into action and helps his boyfriend up. “You really have a thing for catching us in the act, don’t you Pen?” FP teases once he finally straightens himself up.

Penelope finally looks at him if only to roll her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Forsythe. And honestly, Fred, I expected better from you. Fornicating with the dreg of society while we’re supposed to be on a serious mission.”

Fred actually blushes, shifts his feet a little like a kid being scolded by their parent. Fred Andrews: Eternal boy scout.

“Aw, don’t be so hard on him, Pen.”

“Stop calling me that,” Penelope scolds, but FP ignores her.

“It’s not his fault. Not many can resist my magic hands.” He takes the hand that had just been jerking off Fred and wiggles his fingers in front of the madame’s face as she recoils in disgust and slaps his arm away.

“You’re foul.”

“FP, stop antagonizing Penelope.” 

That seems to be enough to get him to stop, Penelope notices. She can’t say much for FP Jones, but at least he’s obedient… depending on who’s holding the leash. Fortunately for her right now it’s Fred, who’s coming up behind the taller brunet and taking his arm firm in his grip.

“The room’s clear,” Fred supplies, too shy from having just been caught in the act to make direct eye contact with Penelope, which she admittedly finds to be quite cute. “We’ll just, uh, go check somewhere else.” He nods his head politely before dragging FP past their former detention-mate and out the door.

“Might be more productive to keep your pants on this time!” She calls over her shoulder.

“I wouldn’t count on it!” FP yells back, his voice echoing in the empty halls as the door swings shut.

Penelope scoffs and shakes her head when she hears Fred’s voice chastising FP for the remark.

Oh to be dumb and in love.

**Author's Note:**

> well if you're still here you might as well leave comments and kudos you... brave little toaster


End file.
